


Same Old Lang Syne

by Obsessive (mecaka)



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angstfest, Christmas!fic, F/M, Gothel's not a good mom, I'm serious people, My obligatory Christmas one-shot, Rapunzel is a little off-balance, Rapunzel's head is a fun place to write, Rapunzel/Eugene past relationship, Swearing, some stream-of-concsiousness, song!fic, yes - Freeform, you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mecaka/pseuds/Obsessive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Same Old Lang Syne, by Dan Fogelberg</b>
  <br/><i>Met my old lover in the grocery store</i>
  <br/><i>As snow was falling Christmas Eve</i>
  <br/><i>Stole behind [him] in the frozen foods</i>
  <br/><i>And I touched [him] on the sleeve</i>
  <br/><i>[He] didn’t recognize my face at first</i>
  <br/><i>But then [his] eyes flew open wide</i>
  <br/><i>[He] went to hug me and [I] spilled [my] purse</i>
  <br/><i>And we laughed until we cried...</i>
</p>
<p>Rapunzel sees a familiar face when she least expects it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be up on Christmas Eve, but my brain is dumb and forgot how soon Christmas actually was.
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol, Adult Language, Adult Activities (brief mention)

As if it wasn't bad enough that she had spent the entirety of Christmas Eve shut up in her studio cleaning up after the Christmas rush, and had to stay late for an extremely last-minute pick-up, Rapunzel had returned home to an empty kitchen. She was staring at the empty refrigerator, trying to remember eating all the food she had thought was there. Christmas Eve, and she was having to go out and find a store that was still open so that she wouldn't starve over the weekend. Add that to that damn voicemail she had gotten from her mother, and this was pretty much the worst Christmas ever. " _Rapunzel, why don't you ever answer this phone? The whole point of getting it was so I could call and check up on you! …Anyways, I wanted to tell you that I met a_ _ **wonderful**_   _young man, who just so happens to be single! Even better, he comes from old money, you'll be able to quit that silly hobby of yours. So, the next weekend you're free, you are flying out here to meet him. And I don't want to hear_ _ **any**_   _excuses, flower! *click*"_

As she tugged her mittens, hat, coat, and boots back on, she could hear her mother's voice echoing in her mind, scolding her for not paying more attention to the state of their— _her_ —kitchen, for not being more prepared for Christmas Day, for not settling down and having a family to celebrate with. Rapunzel's only comfort was knowing that her mother was three time-zones away, and was probably spending Christmas Eve in a stranger's bed after getting drunk off her ass. Because that was  _so_  much better than spending it alone.

She walked as quickly as she could through the accumulating snow, pulling her shoulders up and in and her head down to avoid the biting chill. Days like this were when she really wished she could get a car. She had no idea what might even be open this late, but she would just have to methodically check all the stores within walking distance.

An hour later, she was reaching the last store she was willing to check. She was thanking whatever higher power was helping her, as this one was actually still open; it was the furthest one from her home, her feet were aching, and her nose had literally gone numb fifteen minutes ago, but she had finally found an open store.

She breathed a sigh of relief as a wave of heat rolled out from the doors as they slid open. Rapunzel wandered the aisles with a basket on one arm, pulling down the staples of her life: a loaf of bread, a bag of rice, a week's worth of canned soup, and fruits carefully selected from the produce section. She headed towards the frozen section, hoping to find a microwaveable dinner that could act as her Christmas meal tomorrow. As she walked down the aisle, she saw a man crouched in front of one the freezers near the other end.  _At least I'm not the only one needing groceries now…_

As she browsed the aisle, looking for some sort of turkey meal, she kept stealing glances at the man who seemed to be torn between two boxes. She couldn't help but feel that she  _knew_  him, which was ridiculous because nearly all of her friends had moved away over the last few years. All the ones she had bothered keeping in touch with, anyways.

He had a gray beanie pulled over his dark brown hair, a teal scarf dangling around his neck, one fringed end trailing on the floor. The khaki pants and polished brown loafers peaking out from behind the hem of his leather coat were signs that he had money; they were the type that all her clients wore. Rapunzel had no concrete reason to recognize him, but she did; if only she could tell from  _where_.

Her search for a turkey dinner brought her closer and closer to the man, until suddenly she knew who he was. Dumbstruck, she stepped over to him, and brushed his upper arm lightly. He jumped a little, clearly jarred from his own little world, before turning to her. He looked confused for a minute before his mouth dropped open and his eyes turned bright. She smiled at him as he stood. He leaned in to hug her, and the move startled her so bad that her basket was upset, and all her groceries dumped onto the floor. They both stared at the items for a minute—a minute so long that Rapunzel was suddenly very worried what he might be thinking of her,  _I mean, spilling your damn groceries? Who does that? He must think you're_ _ **so**_   _clumsy!_ —before he started laughing, the same laugh from high school, and she couldn't help but laugh, too. They laughed and laughed—she was so relieved—until eventually they were both in tears, wiping their eyes, gasping for air, and leaning against the glass doors.

When she finally got her breathing back under control, she knelt down to collect the scattered groceries, inspecting a few of the apples to make sure they hadn't been too damaged from the fall. Moments later, he had joined her on the store's tile floor, carefully placing her goods back into the basket. He even made sure to put the bread on top so it wouldn't get smushed.

When, they stood back up, he was smiling at her,  _the same one from high school_ , and she couldn't help but grin back. "Hi, Eugene," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked as his smile faltered, and he replied with, "I go by Flynn, now."

"Okay," she stuttered back, flustered by the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the freezers surrounding them.

"It's really great seeing you, Rapunzel… I almost didn't recognize you without all the blonde!"

"Wha—Oh, yeah! I stopped dying it a while ago, and shorter makes painting a lot less challenging, so…" she explained, tugging a hand through her hair.

"Your mo—" he stopped himself and winced. She took a deep breath and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes darted to the ceiling, and hers off to one side.

"So, uh," he started to say, but trailed off.

"I should probably go pay for these."

"Yeah, and I need to make a decision, I suppose…"

She went to walk away, but his hand went for her elbow. "Yeah?"

"I, uh… Do you want to go get a drink? Or at least grab a six-pack, since nothing's probably open?"

A smile slipped it's way back onto her face. "I'd love to."

— _-—_

An hour later they were laughing uproariously, each holding a bottle, sitting in the front seat of his Mercedes (" _Are you_ _ **shitting**_   _me Eu—Flynn?! Where the hell are you getting this kinda money?!" He had just laughed and asked when she'd stopped being so stuck up about swearing_ ). Her feet were propped on the dash—after slipping off her boots, and it had been so worth him seeing her polka-dot socks because he had smiled at them sitting on the lacquered surface and said something about how she'd always loved the fun socks—and both their seats were leaned back as far as they would go.

Rapunzel used to wonder how people could be friends with people they had broken up with. Some of her friends said that their exes had just been better friend-material, others said that they just tried to ignore the tension and that "we're really just more of  _acquaintances_ , really." A few said they had never tried to just be friends with their exes, that it was just too complicated.

But sitting here, in his car, laughing over a story just like they used to, she could almost imagine that she hadn't ended things all those years ago. But then she would be all too aware of the whole Mercedes thing, the high-end clothes, the too-white teeth. And she would know that, whatever he was doing now—because they still hadn't gotten to that, yet—he was obviously better off without her ( _even though Mother had promised it would be the other way 'round_ ).

He calmed down enough to take another swig, before he snorted and started off on another reminiscence. She couldn't help but notice that neither of them had even once brought up a story from when they were…  _them_. It was all stories mainly involving other people, or the two of them before, or just one of them and their family.

As the conversation dissolved into uncontrolled giggles once more, Rapunzel tipped her bottle back one more time and finally screwed up enough (liquid) courage to ask him, "So, what are you doing, now?" and nearly groaned at the blank confusion on his face.

"Like, career?"

"Yeah, uh… yeah."

"Not much of anything really. I mean I doubled in poli-sci and econ, but I met this girl right before I graduated, and—man, let me tell you—that chick was  _loaded_. Kinda been drifting through the upper-middle class, relying solely on my charm and good looks," he told her this with a smile on his face, looking almost wistful. Or maybe proud. She felt a little confused, but decided against pursuing the issue, as he had never been a very coherent drunk, no matter how little slurring occurred. "I was actually at this art show—oh… I don't remember which one—and we were going through this one gallery, and she stops me to show me this  _gorgeous_  painting, and is going on and on about how she's been meaning to buy a piece from this artist, yada, yada, yada, and I'm just nodding along, playing the good boyfriend, when I actually look at this piece and the label and everything… It was one of yours... That was a really roundabout way of saying that you're really getting around aren't ya, Blondie?"

She didn't even blink at the nickname, it was so familiar. But when it actually hit her a few moments later, she realized that he hadn't really noticed either, and that he must be  _really_  drunk to slip back into that old habit again.

"Yeah, well… My creative side definitely got a boost when Mother finally moved to LA like she'd been planning for forever—" and now she was wondering just how drunk  _she_  was "—and when you get noticed by one art collector, all their friends here about you, and eventually one of them actually runs those stuffy shows and I get even more noticed. The only reason I was even out tonight was because I was finishing up some orders… I mean, not anything museum-worthy, a lot of it was actually ceramics this year—who knew flower pots would be the hit gift this season?—and most of them were people who found me back when I was first starting at the craft fairs, but I haven't really been home a lot the last few days, and got home late this evening to an empty kitchen." She finished with a nervous laugh, and stared down at the beer, trying to figure out how drunk she really should be, considering she was only just getting to the end of her first bottle.

He chuckled along with her, shaking his head good-naturedly. "I'm guessing that's when the bleach stopped, too?"

She nodded, part of her wondering if he had preferred the blonde, even though the rest of her was remembering how he had been encouraging her to put her foot down about it back then. "When'd you start going by your middle name?"

He hesitated. "The, uh, first girl I was seeing after you, when I was in college, she started calling me Flynn and it just sort of stuck. And, really, I got it, because she really wasn't the sort of girl to talk about a guy called Eugene Flynnagan Fitzherbert. Just dropping Eugene and half my middle name was a huge improvement to 'my image'… At the time, it seemed like a lot of trouble, but I definitely wouldn't be the guy I am today if I was still going by Eugene."

She could only nod. It  _did_  seem a like a lot of trouble, but she hadn't been able to stop noticing all the ways he was different now. Pretty much the only thing about him that hadn't changed was the light in his gorgeous eyes ( _and his smile and his laugh_ ); she would've told him so, too, but she couldn't find the way to say it that didn't make her sound silly.

At some point, the cover on the sun-roof got rolled back, and they were watching the snowflakes melt against the glass. As Rapunzel stared at the droplets clinging to the surface of the window, she couldn't help but see how they looked like tears, which was stupid because it was just making her sad—and, of course, now she remembers that she gets like this  _every time_ she drinks—and she doesn't want to start crying on him.  _She_ dumped  _him_ , she couldn't be sad that he moved on ( _well, she could be, she just couldn't let_ _ **him**_   _know she was_ ).

And really, the only reason she was sad that he'd moved on was because it meant that he didn't love her anymore. And she still—

"Hey, you okay?"

Her head snapped toward him, a hand reaching for her face when she realized that she was crying  _damn it_. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the tears, and smiled a little bit. "Yeah, I just…"

He sighed, and put a hand on her cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "Maybe we shouldn't have gotten beer, huh? I forgot you were a sad drunk."

She laughed a little, a very breathy laugh, because  _oh gosh, his hand was on her face and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his and oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh._ She literally felt like she couldn't breathe, it felt like he was staring into her  _soul_. After an eternity of…  _that_ , she succeeded in looking away, and her gaze immediately fell on the little digital clock on the dashboard. When had it gotten that late? And now she was stuck on the fact that  _he had a girlfriend_ , and  _what on earth am I_ _ **doing**_ _?_  She tore her eyes from the clock and stared at her hands, noticing that his hand had returned to his side at some point, and that her bottle was empty ( _when had that happened?_ ).

Rapunzel brought up the idea that maybe they should head to their respective homes. Her excuses were many and varied, from needing sleep after so many late nights to her studio needing a deep-clean tomorrow. They hugged again, and as she went to pull away, he pressed his lips briefly to the corner of her mouth. She felt herself going red, and as she got out of the car she stumbled ( _Why did he do that?! In what universe was that considered okay?_ ), but eventually she was standing next to his car with her groceries, waving when he pulled away. As she watched him turn down another street, she was hit hard with the memory of when he'd left after she'd ended things. She could hear her mother's voice again, the sickly sweet tones as she told Rapunzel all the things that would (supposedly) go wrong if she continued to date "the poor orphan boy with no prospects and no future."

She blinked away the fresh tears, and began walking, huddling her shoulders against the raindrops that had replaced the snowflakes.


End file.
